


What Happens on Midgard Stays on Midgard (...Except For When It Doesn’t)

by So_Caffeinated (so_caffeinated)



Series: Trope Bingo (Avengers) [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Absinthe, Ensemble - Freeform, F/M, Fic Exchange, Holidays, Thor ships it, Tony is far too interested in everyone’s sex lives, Walk Of Shame, background ships, cliches, hangovers, post-redemption!Loki, repeated one-night-stands, trope bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 22:57:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2829026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_caffeinated/pseuds/So_Caffeinated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark's New Year's bash was a lot of fun. If only Sif and Loki could remember the details of precisely what happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens on Midgard Stays on Midgard (...Except For When It Doesn’t)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coffeesuperhero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeesuperhero/gifts).



 

It’s not that Sif has never woken up with a pounding headache and a less than stellar recollection of the previous night’s events. She’s been around a couple of centuries and not all of her youth was spent sparring and polishing her armor. It has, however, been a solid half a century since she’s found herself in this position, so that makes it rather surprising. More so when you consider she’s on _Midgard_ and she’d been under the apparently-erroneous impression that mortals didn’t have any substances that could affect an Asgardian this way.

 

So… yeah. She’s a little surprised at her circumstances. She’s less surprised to find her company is precisely the same as it was the _last_ time she woke up with a hangover and foggy memory. That should probably bother her. She’s actively deciding not to think about it, though, because frankly - goddess or not - there’s only so much someone can deal with at one time.

 

“I feel vaguely cheated somehow,” comes a voice from the far side of the bed as she struggles to dress as fast as possible and put this morning behind her.

 

“You feel _cheated_?” She scoffs.

 

She can’t _help_ tossing a derisive look over her shoulder. She just can’t. Because… _honestly_? _He_ feels _cheated_?

 

She immediately regrets the impulse though, because whilst he might not have the overtly bulging muscles Thor does and most of Asgard holds up as a standard of masculine desirability, Loki’s whole being exudes a sense of barely restrained strength. It draws her in. It always has, loathe though she is to admit it, and at the moment he’s unabashedly nude and stretched out across the bed staring at her with the kind of intensity only Loki can pull off.

 

“Most definitely,” Loki drawls, openly appraising her. “Not only do I not remember anything past those green drinks from Stark’s party, but I wake to find you already half dressed. It hardly feels fair.”

 

“Well, I don’t remember a thing either,” she says firmly. “So it won’t be difficult for us to pretend nothing happened.”

 

Loki makes a noise that’s neither in agreement nor disagreement and watches her with a calculating stare that she can feel through the back of her skull.

 

“This is what… the ninth or tenth time this has happened?” He asks her with false offhandedness.

 

“Eleventh,” she answers automatically before wincing at her admission. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

 

“I wasn’t keeping count,” he says in a bored tone, the lie so very obvious that she can’t help tossing a disbelieving look at him.

 

“If you insist on talking about this, would you at least put on pants?” She requests abruptly.

 

He smirks like he’s won something. And maybe he has, but he puts on pants anyhow, so Sif considers it a draw at worst.

 

“It doesn’t _mean_ anything, Loki,” she tells him, pulling her hair back as she talks. “Drink leads to foolish choices, that’s all.”

 

“Really?” Loki asks, annoyance shading his tone.

 

“Of course,” she insists.

 

“Well… more the fool am I, then,” he bites out, his voice dripping with bitterness.

 

“Loki, It’s been at least fifty years since this last…”

 

Her protest dies off mid-sentence as her gaze catches on something on Loki’s arm. He’s looking at her puzzled as she rounds the bed and grabs his wrist, twisting slightly so she can see it better. Asgardian runes freshly tattooed along his left forearm. She pales horribly as she reads them. Loki starts laughing, low and bitter as he follows her gaze.

 

“Perhaps, before you file the evening away as something you’d rather pretend never happened because it doesn’t fit neatly into your black-and-white view of your life, we ought figure out precisely what _happened_ last night,” he suggests before adding, “besides the obvious, that is.”

 

She hates to agree with him. She really does. But he’s not wrong.

 

“Where do we start?” She asks, dropping his wrist abruptly and wrenching her eyes from the somewhat terrifying tattoo.

 

“Where we began to forget, I should think,” he says easily. “With the megalomaniac handing out little green drinks last night.”

 

“ _You_ calling anyone else a megalomanic is a little bit hypocritical, isn’t it?” She asks dryly. “Of everyone there last night, you’re the only one who’s tried to dominate an entire planet.”

 

“Tell that to any of Stark Industries’ competitors,” he replies easily. “But that’s beside the point. Have you a better plan?”

 

“Do you _really_ want to admit any of this to Stark?” She asks rather than responding because she doesn’t, but she’s not about to tell him that.

 

“Well, of course not,” he tells her. “But considering mortal constitutions and the general state of inebriation last night, I hardly think we’ll be the only ones with absent memories. Or unplanned bedmates, for that matter. We don’t even need to ask questions. All we need to do is listen and plant a few wisely placed comments.”

 

“Lead the way then,” she says, gesturing toward the door. “But maybe put on a shirt first.”

 

*

 

The main living areas of Stark’s homes are uniformly decadent gathering spaces and Tony’s place on the Las Vegas strip is no different. However, there is, Sif realizes as they enter the main room, something dulled about it today. Maybe its that several of the people already in the room have obvious hangovers or maybe it’s that Stark himself has yet to make an appearance, but the space is subdued and it sits poorly with Sif.

 

Lacking even the smallest amount of subtlety, Thor’s eyebrows shoot up as Loki and Sif enter together. She glowers a little at him in response, which only earns a grin and deepens her annoyance with her friend.

 

“Good morrow and a most joyous New Year!” Thor bellows in a voice that rumbles throughout the room.

 

“Oh my God, _please_ turn down the seasonal joy before I upchuck or Jane’s head explodes all over your lap,” Darcy groans as Jane whimpers from her position curled up with her head on Thor’s thigh and an ice pack on her temple.

 

Thor looks down at Jane with concern and strokes her hair.

 

“How are you three not in complete misery?” Darcy asks accusingly, looking hatefully from Sif and Loki to Thor and back.

 

“We are _gods_ , Miss Lewis,” Loki says loftily. “We don’t share your… mortal failings.”

 

He’s lying. Obviously. On account of him being Loki. It comes as naturally as breathing to him. Sif learned this eons ago, but Darcy clearly doesn’t know this yet if her pout is anything to judge by.

 

“That’s so unfair. I totally missed my calling in life. I should’ve been a goddess,” she grumbles. “I could have been like… Lady Darcy, goddess of awesome life choices while drunk.”

 

“Perhaps you ought adopt such a title,” Loki smiles toothily toward Sif.

 

“I have enough titles,” she grits back at him after a beat. “Goddess of War, chief amongst them. You’d do well to remember that.”

 

“As if I could forget?” Loki questions. “There isn’t anything that isn’t a battle with you, my lady.”

 

“Despair, not, Lady Darcy,” Thor interrupts, consoling the mortal. “My brother jests. Indeed we share many of your mortal failings. Whilst your ale has little effect on us, the substance called absinthe that Tony shared with us last eve is another matter entirely. I find I have little recollection of the previous night’s events and yet I am left with a great sense of joy and fondness.”

 

“That sucks, dude,” Darcy says sympathetically. “Not the joy and fondness bit. I’m pretty sure you just wouldn’t be you without those. It sucks that you don’t remember anything. I mean, my memory is on the blurry side, but at least it’s somewhat there.”

 

“Perhaps we ought hear your recollections then? To better our own appreciation of the evening,” Loki says smoothly.

 

Darcy tisks in reply.

 

“I’m afraid the best parts of my evening aren’t the sharing type,” she says with a wink.

 

As if on cue, Steve wanders into the room and abruptly turns several dozen shades of red, Tony and Clint following a few steps behind.

 

“Well _hell-o_ , Captain,” Darcy says wagging her eyebrows. “Sleep well?”

 

Tony’s wearing very dark aviator sunglasses, no doubt owing to his predictable hangover, but his eyebrows shoot up above the rim and an almost gleeful grin takes over his face.

 

“Miss Lewis! Did you deflower a national icon?”

 

“Oh, Stark. That ship sailed way before this port, if you catch my drift,” she snorts.

 

“I think everyone caught your drift, Darce,” Jane mumbles from her semi-conscious state on Thor’s lap.

 

“Miss Lewis, I think-” Steve starts before she cuts him off.

 

“We’ll chat later, but I think we’re like a thousand percent past the point where you should call me Darcy, Cap,” she laughs.

 

“The complete and total mathematical fail of ‘a thousand percent past’ makes my brain hurt, Lewis. Be glad Banner is back in New York or he might see green over your mutilation of his precious math,” Stark says, followed quickly by “Is there no coffee? Why isn’t there coffee. Jarvis, you fail me.”

 

“Apologies, Mr. Stark. Ms. Lewis and Mr. Odinson consumed it at a far faster rate than anticipated. I’m currently brewing more and anticipate it being ready in 1.43 minutes,” the disembodied butler answers.

 

“My deepest apologies, Tony,” Thor says with far too much seriousness. “I find your coffee most soothing against the aftereffects of last night’s festivities.”

 

Sif makes a mental note to grab some coffee as soon as it’s ready.

 

“You? Got _drunk_?” Tony asks grinning far too wide.

 

“Indeed, your absinthe is a most mighty concoction,” Thor confirms. “Neither I, nor my brother, nor the Lady Sif appear to recall much of last night’s festivities after the potent drinks.”

 

“Try not to look so shocked, Stark. We aren’t actually gods, just Asgardians,” Sif says a little defensively.

 

“Well… mostly,” Loki says dryly, earning a surprised look from Sif. “Forgot that for a moment, did you?”

 

“It is an easy thing to forget,” Sif tells him a little defensively. “Your parentage matters little when you are a prince of Asgard who has fought and bled for her for a thousand years. You are Asgardian not because of the blood in your veins but because of the heart and the courage you possess and defend her with.”

 

His gaze is piercing as he searches her eyes for something. She’ll never be precisely sure what he finds there, but she is not the sort to play at masks or deception.

 

“Careful, Lady,” he finally says, his voice soft and low. “One might mistake you to care.”

 

She sets her jaw and looks to the side, which is a mistake because she immediately sees Thor and the maddeningly happy look on his face.

 

“ _Really_?” Stark asks, laughing abruptly. “ _Really_? Oh, _you_ could do _so_ much better than _him_.”

 

“It would be best not to insult a prince of Asgard within my range of hearing, Stark,” she tosses back at him.

 

“Nor mine,” Thor levels at Tony, who puts his hands up in surrender at their joint defense of Loki.

 

She can feel Loki still watching her, his gaze hot enough that it might burn if she looked back, but she doesn’t. She can’t. Sif has never in her life backed down from a fight, but she cannot force herself to face whatever this unnamed thing is between them.

 

“Did you get a _tattoo_?” Darcy asks suddenly, her head turned sideways with a quizzical look on her face as she stares past Sif.

 

“So it appears,” Loki drawls.

 

“Lemme see!” Darcy demands, hopping up and walking past Sif to grab Loki’s arm and push up his sleeve.

 

If Sif feels severe annoyance at the girl, it is only because of her abrupt nature and not because she saw fit to invade Loki’s personal space where she clearly does not belong.

 

“By all means,” Loki says with enough sarcasm to drench the room.

 

“Oh that’s actually really cool,” Darcy said with surprise, eyeing the fresh ink on Loki’s forearm. “Is that some kind of language? What’s it mean?”

 

Loki’s reply is muttered hotly and completely unintelligible.

 

“It means ‘mumble mumble angry hiss’?” She questions, head cocked to the side.

 

“It means nothing,” Sif says, in a decisive but terribly told lie.

 

“It’s Asgardian runes!” Thor says with delight. “Quite artfully done. And useful, too!”

 

“Thor-” Sif says in a warning voice.

 

“It says, ‘If found, return to Sif of Asgard,’” Thor announces, missing or ignoring Sif’s tone. “This might have saved us all quite a lot of trouble a few years back, brother.”

 

“Yes, because Thanos would have simply returned me to Asgard had I but been labelled with directions,” Loki says sardonically.

 

“Did you get branded, too?” Tony asks toward Sif.

 

“No… not that I’m aware of,” Sif replies, suddenly realizing that she dressed so quickly, she mightn’t have noticed.

 

“So, wait, if you got a tattoo, that means you left the building. As in, went into public,” Darcy says finally, making her way back to her seat.

 

“Thus, why we would like to recall more of our evening,” Loki says with uncharacteristic patience.

 

“Where’s Natasha?” Steve asks Clint, reminding Sif of both of their presences.

 

“Haven’t seen her today, but I’m sure she remembers everything,” Clint acknowledges.

 

“Surely Lady Natasha is not immune to the effects of your absinthe if even your super soldier was effected,” Sif questions.

 

“Nat has an iron gut. It’s a Russian thing,” Clint tells her. “In Mother Russia, absinthe forgets _you_.”

 

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Steve counters, to which Clint merely shrugs.

 

“Uh, we don’t need Natasha for this,” Darcy says warily, as she stares at her phone. “See the thing about being sorta famous and in public on Earth in the modern era means your picture is gonna hit the internet like fifteen seconds after you step outside. And since you two are like an alien warrior goddess and a reformed attempted alien dictator/terrorist, you’re famous.”

 

“We are on your internet?” Sif asks.

 

“Um… yes. Definitely,” Darcy says, looking up nervously and biting her lip as she holds her phone against her chest.

 

“Show me,” Sif orders.

 

“I’d really rather not,” Darcy winces.

 

“Miss Lewis, I require your internet device. Do not make me take it by force,” Sif orders.

 

“Fine… fine. So bossy. Is she _always_ like this?” Darcy asks Loki as she hands Sif her phone.

 

Sif doesn’t even have to look to know he’s grinning widely in reply. Which is good because the phone has her complete and total undivided attention.

 

She can feel the blood drain from her face and a sense of panic well up in her gut that outstrips anything ever felt in battle.

 

“This is a lie,” she insists.

 

“It’s trending,” Darcy replies sympathetically. “Like a lot. Youtube apparently crashed earlier. So... congrats, you two. You broke the internet.”

 

“Did you do what I think you did?” Tony asks before apparently remembering Sif and Loki remember nothing and looking toward Darcy instead. “Did they do what I think they did? Jarvis, get me everything!”

 

“Probably call Pepper, too, Jarvis,” Darcy adds. “If anyone can spin this…”

 

“Pray-tell to what do you refer?” Thor asks with deep concern.

 

Sif hears none of this though. Not really. Her head is swimming and she’s hyper-aware of Loki looming over her shoulder looking at the tiny screen in her hand.

 

Cultural differences between Midgard and Asgard are many, but they are not so different that Sif can’t recognize a wedding ceremony when she sees one, even with unintelligible sound.

 

“Why, then I might truly call you sister!” Thor suddenly shouts bombastically, someone apparently having explained to him precisely what Darcy found. “This is a joyous cause for celebration in the midst of the most joyous season!”

 

“Thor…” Sif says with a pained tone.

 

“Did they do traditional vows? Because if she swore to obey until death do them part, I’m pretty sure that bodes poorly for Loki,” Barton says.

 

“Did I _what_? I _would not_ swear to _obey_ ,” Sif spits indignantly.

 

“Just a guess, but I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that wouldn’t do much for your husband if you did,” Stark says.

 

“You’ve given entirely too much thought to my sex life, Stark,” Loki says, speaking up for the first time in a while.

 

“Don’t take it personally. I give far too much thought to everyone’s sex lives,” Tony replies.

 

“Look, this is way less of a big deal than you think it is,” Jane says placatingly, finally sitting up, but with the ice pack still against her skull. “It’s _Vegas_ , after all.”

 

“I do not understand,” Sif says.

 

“Vegas is sort of known for its vices, quickie weddings and even faster annulments,” Clint tells her.

 

“Mortals would simply besmirch their honor and dismiss a vow?” Sif asks bewildered.

 

“Well, when it’s that or stay married to a drunken one-night-stand...” Clint shrugs.

 

“I am fairly certain that her esteem of mortals just dropped dramatically,” Loki says. “Excellent job, Barton.”

 

Her head is whirling and all of the sudden the room is entirely too crowded.

 

“I require air,” Sif announces suddenly, ignoring sympathetic looks from most of her friends and _whatever_ look is on Loki’s face as she heads out onto the balcony by herself.

 

The late morning air is cool, but it does little to soothe Sif’s nerves. Not that she truly thought it would. She is _wed_. To _Loki_. Waking up beside him - again - had not been terribly surprising. While she might tamp down any attraction toward the trickster prince whilst in her right mind, she is not fool enough to deny that it exists. She knows herself well enough to know that impaired judgement means an impaired ability to push back any attraction to him. But to have _married_ him…

 

“Might you want for company?”

 

Sif turns to find Thor standing in the threshold to the balcony.

 

“Far be it from me to deny family,” she replies.

 

“It is not so bad as you seem to believe,” Thor tells her gently, leaning against the railing next to her, watching as Las Vegas slowly wakes up in the streets below.

 

“I cannot see how,” Sif tells him. “I have tied myself to a liar, a trickster and a cheat.”

 

“Loki is not so bad as all that,” Thor says levelly. “And I am fairly certain that he is not the only one lying.”

 

Sif bristles at this.

 

“I mean only to say that you seem to lie greatly to yourself, in this one regard,” Thor clarifies. “For I have watched for many centuries as the two of you have battled and occasionally drifted together only for you to deny the presence of any sort of affection. I think this to be false.”

 

Sif huffs in annoyance, for Thor is perceptive at the most inopportune times.

 

“In truth, I know not what I feel toward him,” she mitigates.

 

“Forgive me, Lady, but we both know that to be a lie as well,” Thor ventures.

 

It is bold of him, but truthfully, he is not wrong.

 

“Then perhaps my husband’s nature bleeds into mine,” she replies.

 

“I know well that he has pursued you more than once and you have denied him,” Thor tells her, startling her greatly.

 

“How did you…” She begins.

 

“He told me,” Thor says plainly, “centuries ago. Once he even sought advice, though clearly my counsel did not better his results.”

 

“That was… a very long time ago,” Sif allows.

 

“And yet he looks at you the same as he did then,” Thor tells her. “Perhaps I overstep, but I know you both well and it seems to me that you deny your affections for my brother because you fear his to be untrue. I would swear by Mjolnir that they are not.”

 

“That is… a weighty statement, Thor,” she responds after a beat.

 

“Aye. It was meant to be,” he tells her.

 

“He is… vexing. And brilliant. And devious. And courageous. And dangerous. And attractive,” Sif admits aloud. “You are correct in that I lied in saying I do not know what I feel for him. I know it well, though I scarcely admit it. My feelings are at war with themselves.”

 

“Then you must choose the victor,” Thor tells her. “It is as simple as that.”

 

“Hey guys, forgive the intrusion,” Clint says, peeking his head out the doorway. “Nat just showed up with Coulson in tow. He’d like to have a word with Mr. and Mrs. Odinson.”

 

“Your names make no sense,” Sif tells him, even as she moves to re-enter the room. “Regardless of any action I might take, I will never be Odin’s son.”

 

“Поздравляю to the newly weds,” Natasha deadpans as Sif rejoins the group.

 

“Prince Loki, Princess-Consort Sif,” greets Director Coulson, the title startling Sif greatly.

 

“That’s true… you would be royalty now, wouldn’t you?” Loki muses.

 

“I want a blade, not a crown,” Sif insists.

 

“And yet it appears now you have both,” Loki points out. “Lucky you.”

 

“Might I have a word with the two of you in private, your majesties,” Coulson half-asks, half-commands as he gestures towards Tony’s study.

 

“Please… make yourself at home,” Tony says sarcastically as they head toward the study, leaving him and the others behind.

 

“Make yourselves comfortable. Please,” Coulson says politely as Sif stands stiffly near the door.

 

“Director,” Sif begins, not moving to take a seat, “forgive me, but there is nothing comfortable about the current situation. To that end, I would ask you to cease calling me ‘princess-consort.’”

 

“It’s probably for the best that you’re not attached to the title,” Loki says dryly. “I can’t imagine changing the tattoo to include it would be particularly easy.”

 

“At approximately 0234 hours, my office was informed of your nuptials,” Coulson says, wisely cutting off any remark Sif might have been about to make. “I’m here to tell you that they never happened.”

 

“But… the video?” Sif questions.

 

“The ceremony, such as it was, occurred. Yes,” Coulson clarifies. “But, paperwork was never filed with the county, thanks to Agent Romanov. As far as legalities go, our country does not consider you married.”

 

“There were vows, though,” Sif insists. “Oaths made.”

 

“And those are between the two of you,” Coulson smiles thinly. “Lady Sif, Prince Loki, if your planet wants to declare you married, we’ll happily acknowledge it. But as far as Earth is concerned, your marriage never happened. That being said, if you’re worried about upholding your vows, I do have a record of precisely what they were.”

 

“I should like to see that,” Sif says immediately.

 

“I thought you might,” Coulson says faintly, handing Sif a tablet. “I had our tech team clear up the video. I’ll leave you two alone to take a look.”

 

The room seems smaller as Coulson leaves it and Loki’s presence is ten times more noticeable. He’s looking at her with the same look he so often does, the one Thor swears is genuine, and for the first time Sif allows herself to imagine that maybe it really is.

 

“We don’t have to watch that,” he tells her. “I would release you from any obligations to me as my wife without hesitation, if you asked it of me. You know this?”

 

“I know,” she nods. “And you know I would not forgive myself for dismissing any vow so easily. Especially ones made to someone who means as much to me as you do.”

 

“And what, dare I ask, is it that I mean to you, my lady?” He asks.

 

“I know not,” she tells him. “And yet… and yet, I believe I might be starting to find out.”

 

The surprise on his face is undeniably genuine and the tension that fills the room soon after is both powerful and compelling.

 

“Sif…” He says, his voice somehow both a warning and filled with longing.

 

“We ought watch the video,” she interrupts, heart thrumming in her chest as she intentionally tries to break the tension.

 

This is Loki, though, and his intensity is ever-present. The tension dulls slightly, but it is still there. If she’s being honest, it’s always there when they’re together.

 

He nods. She presses play. And everything is very quickly both better and worse than it had been before.

 

The her of the night before is blindingly happy. They both are, to an almost ridiculous degree. He can’t stop watching her, either in the video or in the now. She can feel his eyes on her instead of on the screen.

 

And then there are vows.

 

She vows to cherish him and his friendship, as she hasn’t always done. She vows to protect him, even from himself. She swears to challenge him, respect him, and love him. She swears to be at his side, his partner and friend and warrior.

 

His vows are much the same and she finds herself almost envious of the Sif-from-last-night at the kiss that follows and ends the video.

 

There is a lot of silence that follows.

 

“As I said, I won’t hold you to any of that,” Loki says gently, finally.

 

“And yet there are parts of it I would hold myself to,” Sif responds immediately.

 

He is obviously desperate for her to explain but waits for her to do so on her own, something which Sif will never forget.

 

“I definitely haven’t always protected you and most assuredly not from yourself, though at times you’ve clearly needed it. And, I ought have vowed to cherish your friendship and respect you years ago, but I’ve not always done so, have I?” she tells him.

 

“Sif… I...” Loki fumbles, seeming out of sorts and unsure of what to say for the first time in centuries.

 

“The rest of it though, I was already doing, anyhow,” she tells him.

 

He freezes.

 

“What?” He asks, blinking at her.

 

“I just wasn’t ready to admit it,” she concedes.

 

“Sif, I know I joke about a great many things and frankly I probably deserve a taste of my own medicine, but I would beg you, in this one thing, do not toy with me,” he pleads.

 

“I’m not,” she says simply. “I’m not and I’m tired of fighting everything I feel.”

 

He starts the kiss, their first sober one amid centuries of drunken tumbles. He’s tentative at first, as though he’s waiting for her to shove him away, and she counters that by backing him up against the door and prising his lips apart. He moans against her mouth and kisses her with more self-assurance and she smiles.

 

Suddenly, she’s not jealous in the least of herself in the video from last night. Because, now? Now she’s got some things figured out. And this is infinitely better.

  
Happy new year, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for this challenge!


End file.
